Chapter 6: Old Wounds, New Beginnings
Snow broke underfoot with guards and spare soldiers rushing to the southern gates of Valenhold. About twenty men were all that Inquisitor Barnham asked for when he relayed the order a little while ago, telling the captain of the Night Watch to keep the city on high alert in case the fugitive and his cohorts returned, as well as see to the burial of the dead soldiers and have nurses from the nearby church attend to the injured. The red-bearded knight wiped his beard cleaned from a quick swig of his flask while striding down the streets to the front gate, still planning his next move on whether or not the fugitives survived. He flexed his sore sword-arm and rubbed the side of his ribs as he made his way through the plaza, the pain still fresh on him.
That lad is something else to have put up that kind of fight against meh, Barnham thought to himself. He had faced many creatures of the lands throughout his time as a soldier and commander in the army in the past, and very rarely did the encounters ever stuck with him. From goblins/ogres pillaging rural farmsteads and "beast-walkers" ransacking his troops along the roads and desert areas to facing abominations and demons directly from the nether-realm, he was no stranger to seeing a werewolf attack in fortified city during winter. His fighting style had been tempered well over the years, being refined and honed to match himself against whatever foe came his way. It was the way his chief had trained him to fight when he was a whippersnapper. Fighting had been passed down in his line for centuries, and it was partly what separated him from the common man and soldier. Yet despite his experience in combat, including close-quarter combat, this had been only the third time in all his years that he had felt like he "lost" a duel to another. The blow stung even more at the thought of it being at the hands of someone who hardly was used to fighting in the first place. I should've crushed him like any other beast before him, Barnham pondered again. Especially using THAT technique of all things. Yet I didn't...I don't understand. I gave it everything I had to drop him, and yet he wouldn't relent. He just kept comin. By the gods, I haven't had a good fight like that in ages. The knight stared down at his gloved hands that shielded the bruised flesh that lay beneath, making him wince slightly with each move of his wrist. It felt good, so good. Why do I feel this way? Bah, I can't think of this now damn it!, thinking as he furiously shook his head as he passed the nearby inn. I've got to find him, corpse or no corpse. You'll get yours lad...I swear it!
About a half a block away with the main gate in sight, Inquisitor Barnham could already see the men he asked gathering around the intersection with a few horses. However, something was odd about the sight. He only asked for about twenty refreshed men to band up and ride out with him to the area west of Valenhold. Yet by his count, he could see almost twice this many men. The puzzled look soon vanished as he wandered forth to the Night Watch members as a formation of ebony armored knights stood in front of the iron gate in a wall formation. That's when it Barnham about what was going on. "Bryce...", he muttered under his breath as he scuffed his beard to remove the powdered snow that fell.
His cold breath blasted the air with a heavy sigh as he moved past a few guards now stood at attention in his presence. Almost a few inches from where they stood, one of the knights stepped forth to intercept the emerald knight with an extended hand. "Stand aside you lot," barked Barnham at the bold ebony figure that wished to halt his advance. "The prisoner has fled from the western gate into the stream that leads to the lake. If we ride out now and sweep the shore areas nearby, it's possible we can still find his body and make sure he isn't alive."
"I'm afraid you and anyone else can't leave the city for now, Lord Inquisitor," spoke the unphased figure.
"What did you say?" rebutted Barnham as he raised an eyebrow at the response. "I'm the High Inquisitor of the crown and I demand you let me and these riders through." As he spoke, he motioned with a hand to one of the nearby guards that looked on to fetch his horse from the nearby stable.
"I don't answer to your authority, Inquisitor," said the ebony knight as he shook his head. "We were given strict orders half an hour ago to keep the city in lockdown until Duke Fry returns two days from now from his trip. Not even you are allowed to-" Suddenly, a fist flew smack across the steel visor of his face from Barnham as the warrior's fist clanked off the metal and sent him staggering backwards near his other brethren, but managing to keep his footing.
Steam had boiled over at this point from the beat red face of Barnham in the cold air as he stared down the ebony knight, his fist already ready for another swing if needed. "I'LL MAKE YA ANSWER TO THE AUTHORITY OF ME FIST WHEN I KICK YER ARSE!" yelled the Inquisitor. "Now OPEN...THE BLOODY GATE AND LET US PASS!"
"Stand down Inquisitor, if you know what's good for you," remarked a sly voice from the left side street as Barnham turned to his side. The Inquisitor scowled as he recognized the face. He last saw the fellow wandering in close company with Lord Bryce since he arrived, as if they were conjoined at the hip. Yet Bryce didn't accompany him out here in the cold; the pompous noble instead was with a few of his own personal guard it seems as he rode up in an open carriage pulled by finely-clad black horses, patting his eyes in a silly act. "Ooo hue hue hue, don't you ever loosen at all, Barnham? Always so serious in everything." The side flap opened as the man stepped forward with the grace of a ballerina as he exited the vehicle to give a cordial bow to the knight and the other men.
"Ggguuhhh," groaned Barnham at the theatrical antics of the younger man as he returned a bow. "Save the pleasantries and theatrics for someone else, Lord Cromwell. Do what do I owe the visit this evening?"
"Ooo hue hue, straight to the point I see? Splendid, splendid," Cromwell jested with a devious grin. The man looked much younger than the old Inquisitor, but it could also be from the fine makeup powder that brightened his skin and face. Cromwell was dressed in a tanned priest robe with purple trimmings and sash around his waist as he paced forward, the garment dragging a little behind his feet. He had a small dome cap on his head (as customary for notable priests) and had a silver chained necklace with square chips along each chain link with possibly a red stone in the center of each. Unlike Bryce's other close noble friend, who was more discrete and mysterious, Cromwell was the polar opposite with his flashy demeanor. It didn't take long to hear more ramblings about him for Barnham before he retired from the Inquisition. He was born into nobility at an early age due to his father's connections to the high church of the kingdom and underwent priesthood at an early age to follow his father's footsteps. Because of his narcissistic and "taste in the finer things", the young man was a hit with the wealthy class the second he became high priest of the church in Valenhold while also earning the ridicule of the common folk for being a stain on the faith. And after his father passed away six years ago, the kingdom sought to fill the vacant seat on the high church panel with Cromwell as the aspiring heir, which he took in stride. In turn with his rise to more influence amongst most in the region, Lord Bryce brought him into his inner circle and the two have been well at it ever since.
Waving his hand in a dismissing motion, Cromwell pranced to Barnham's side as he shooed the other men out of the streets. "All of you here just standing around, ooo this will never do, tisk tisk. Off with you. Head back to your posts right this moment."
"But-but my lord, the prisoner has fled the castle and Lord Barnham has asked us to ride west with him to find out if they are truly dead. We need to ride out at once, but the knights won't let us pass," protested one of the guards with open arms.
"I trust ya sense the urgency in our cause now, mi lord?" inquired the Inquisitor at the now flustered magistrate.
"Silence you brute!" Cromwell barked as he waved a ringed finger at Barnham's beard. "You answer to us, remember. I'll deal with you in a moment." Turning his attention back to the guards, he continued while pacing forward. "Like I said, the council orders you to disperse and return to your posts at once. That is an order! We will see to the prisoner ourselves, rest assured." The magistrate swayed his hands over again and giggled as the defeated guards could only hang their heads low while returning back down the streets to the barracks.
"What do ya mean 'we will see to the prisoner ourselves', sir?" replied Barnham.
"It's just what I suggested Inquisitor. We, as in the council, will fully see this matter resolved and laid to rest." Cromwell paced forward as he glanced to his side up to the red-bearded face with a now expressionless face. "You see, we wouldn't be in this situation if you let us run things fully. But we decided, due to your previous exploits as a hero of the captial, that we'd give you the benefit of the doubt and giving you some leeway in your investigation." Cromwell tilted his head as Barnham squinted at him. "And look where that's gotten us, hmmm? You couldn't keep one rag-tag boy under lock and key long enough to serve his judgement for a few days, even though you said you would 'handle it personally'. Now the city is in panic, several guards are dead, Rowen's son has fled like his father, and I'm out in this freezing night having to clean up this mess. Oooomph!"
Walking back to his carriage, the magistrate turned and shook at an angry finger at the emerald knight. "You better hope to the gods I don't catch a cold out in this mess!"
"I don't understand, my lord," replied Barnham while trying to keep his composure in line. "I know this area well-"
"As do our finest men," chimed in Cromwell.
"But have they ever tangled with a lycanthrope? If they are anything like their friend back there, they'll be nothing more than another shiny chewtoy for it."
"I'm tired of arguing with you Lord Inquisitor, especially in this cold so I'll be brief," Cromwell remarked as he stepped toward the burly warrior again. "The capital sent you here at our request, that being the council. That means that even though we give you freedom to do proceed how you think is best, we still run the show. And you'll do well to obey our orders and stay put like a good dog." Barnham clenched his gloved hand tight as he took the brunt end of the harsh words. "Now then, sit tight while we clean up your mess, you mutt. I won't waste my pleasantries on someone who isn't the gentlemen that most claim he is."
"My lord-gggaahhh!" Barnham's phrase got choked out as he felt an unseen force begin to strangle his neck, dropping him to his knees while gasping for air. His eyes darted forward as the magistrate extended his hand forth with the spell he had cast over the knight. What?!? B-but how? thought Barnham as his right hand dug deep into the ground from strain, his face turning a beat red from the tension gripping him.
"Hue hue...insolent man. You think these robes and title are just for show to preach the word of the gods to anyone?," grinned Cromwell as he stared down the crippled warrior. "Even the servant of the faith is no slouch. I've dabbled in the mystic arts like the other high priests before me. Now like I said before," he spoke while raising his extended arm upward, raising Barnham's head up as well. "SIT!" In a swift stroke, Cromwell flung his arm downward while Barnham's skull smashed into the gravel street, splintering the stony pavement with an indention. The Inquisitor's eyes fluttered slightly as his mind spun and his vision blurred from the impact, blood smeared across his temple from the cuts. A few seconds passed before the knight blacked out and laid sprawled at the now laughing magistrates robes. "Oooo hue hue, serves you right, Inquisitor. Know your place while you are here!"
"Master Oliver, shall we proceed with the plan?," asked one of the magistrates guards as they dropped from the back of the carriage. "They could be gaining ground with each passing minute as the Inquisitor mentioned, assuming they aren't dead from plunging into the lake."
Cromwell rubbed his chin while he approached a side compartment on the carriage to retrieve a small metal box with his family crest. "Yes, of course. You know what to do," spoke the magistrate as he pointed past the western wall. "Ride out and search the western shores and forest areas for their bodies and bring them back here without delay. We have to be 100 percent sure that they didn't survive. However, if you find them still breathing," he spoke as he handed the box over to his man. "Simply use this. And make it count; it isn't easy to find more of it nowadays."
The man peeked into the box and almost instantly gasped at the contents before slamming it shut. "But-but sire. This is illegal; you know this!" The magistrate glared back into the man's eyes as he took a step back. "Ri-right. As you command sire. We will ride out at once."
"Hue hue, excellent. Now then, do not delay. Take your horses and ride out. I have to see to other things this evening and take a hot bath before I catch a cold. Hmmph." As Cromwell finished, he waved the man off as he closed the open carriage side-door and motioned his other driver to take him back to his villa. As they trotted down the street, the man shook his head before taking the box under his wing and rushing to the few waiting mercenaries that awaited him at the stables down the street. Standing at attention, the five men in black/brown studded leather arm clasped their arm to the side of their chest as their leader approached with the parcel in tow.
"So boss, what be the task for tonight?" remarked one of the mercs with grit in his voice.
After approaching his horse and dropping the parcel in a side bag, the man pulled a red cloth from his pocket and tied it around to mask his bottom face. "We ride for the western shores tonight and search for the prisoner named Jude Magress. Tonight...we're going to hunt ourselves a werewolf."
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The northern lake of Valenhold of calm and tranquil through the dead of night, its water bathed by the moonlight and stars that twinkled above it in stunning melody of light. Its surface acted as a mirror for that glistening gaze to see itself, until a hand shattered the side of it. Black leather gloves emerged from the frigid waters as one dug itself deep into the moist bank that ran along the forest's edge. With each pull and grunt, a black robed figure rose from the waters while towing something under his right arm; it appeared to be human as the drenched black hair blocked his face. The figure lifted the boy onto his shoulder and trudged through the muddy dirt to the fresh grass just several feet ahead, the rim of the forest within sight. "Just...a little farther..." panted the mysterious man with each step he took in his soaking boots, the water sloshing at his skin still. His body ached all over from the plunge, especially from the torn muscle in his side from impacting a rock along the fast current. Shivers ran down his damp skin and fog left his face with each hot breath he belched into the air, his mask no longer concealing him.
Nearly halfway to the tree-line, the man dropped to a knee, his heart heavy and his strength slowly being sapped by the cold. Taking Jude off his shoulder and resting him on the soft grass, he tossed a wet glove to the side and place his hand over the boy's neck. He could barely look at him, his tears freezing to his face as he steadied his hand for any sign of life. No warmth. He took his hand and tried the youth's chest. A smile came as he felt it, a touch of heat, barely noticeable. "Hold on..Jude. You can't..die here. You have to live...please." He placed his bare hands along the boy's chest and pressed a few times before blowing some air into his open mouth and repeated it over and over. "Breath Jude...breath damn it." After a few tries, a loud cough came from beneath him as Jude floundered on the ground, coughing up water and struggling for air. Jude jumped forward from the ground and latched on around the mysterious man as he tried to calm himself, still oblivious to where he was. "Hold on...Jude, stay with me."
"Sssooo...cccooolllldddd. I'm ffffreeezzing out herrree." Jude muttered as his body shivered all over, only the soaking rags along his waist and legs still left from earlier, but slightly shredded. The man wiped his face quickly as he glanced at the refuge ahead. The trees would provide cover and place for a fire tonight. "Hold on..." he muttered under his breath as he rose to his feet and tossed the shaking body over his shoulder.
Taking every ounce of strength he had left, the figure rushed through the fields as fast as he could till he reached the foot of a tree. He had to act fast, every second would count. "Fire...need to make fire," he muttered as he checked his soaked vest. "DAMN IT!" Tossing his soaked cloak to the side, he smacked the ground with his wet boot. Making fire out in winter, especially at night, would be neigh impossible without a good piece of flint. Unfortunately, his pack came undone from his belt when he clipped the rock in the water. Calming down and thinking for a moment, an idea clicked as he unsheathed a spare dagger and took his shortsword sheathe-holder. He rung the water out from his mask scarf that still sagged along his neck and bundled it up in a small patch of dirt with some nearby twigs from the tree. After placing the holder sideways next to the bundle of materials, the man scraped the side of the tough material with the dagger's blade as hard as he could. It only took several swings to get a good spark to catch an ember on the end of the fabric and slowly smolder as he blew cold breathes into the flame, bringing his creation to life. "Much better," he said to himself through shivers as he walked back over to Jude who lay along the tree trunk, still clenched up in a ball to block out winter's bite. "Let's get by the fire Jude. That oughta warm you up some," the man said as he smiled down.
Nearly half an hour had passed since the duo had emerged from the lake, still huddled close next to the fire to share the warmth of the cool night. Both men gradually began to have life breathed back into them after nearly being on the brink of death. Jude's skin, which was previously white and clammy from floating in the lake for almost an hour, had finally returned to its lighter tan hue as he rubbed his hands vigorously and outstretched them near the dancing flames. Even the black garbed figure was doing much better, no longer shivering and now being able to dry his wet garbs individually against the fire with some spare tree limbs.
"Here Jude, go ahead and wrap yourself in this for now," the man said as he handed over his now dry cape with a hood.
"Thank you so much sir," Jude replied with a warm smile. "May I ask what your name is? I still have no idea who you people are, but I'm so grateful for your aid."
"Not a problem," the man said with cheery closed eyes. "My name is Marcus, by the way. I'm sorry for not telling you it sooner."
"It's fine sir. I'm just glad we can exchange pleasantries now while we can."
"O and I'm embarassed to ask but...could you by chance ummm...hand me those clothes so I can dry them?," asked Marcus in the most awkward way possible.
"Sure. Let me just step over behind the tree and them to you, alright?"
"We'll need to find you a new pair of clothes once we leave in the morning, but at least that cloak can keep you warm for the night so you can sleep." Marcus took the worn-out rags and rung out most of the water before placing them on his leather vest that was still drying before sitting back down on a mound of dirt next to Jude by the fire.
"So I'm really a wanted man now, aren't I?" questioned Jude with sorrow as he stared into the fire.
"Yes, that you are Jude," Marcus replied with a nod while staring forward. "But you aren't alone in this mess. You know that now right?" Jude nodded back with a smile. "We are here for you, remember that. There are others out there that are like us, me and my partner. We live to serve, and we serve to live. It's a creed we follow and by order of our leader, we are to make sure you are protected no matter what."
Tilting his head to Marcus with a puzzled look, Jude asked the man what group he was referring to, but he wouldn't reply. There was a brief silence as the man thought for a moment, not knowing what to say exactly. "I want to tell you Jude, honest to the gods. I want you to know why we are doing this for you. And I'm certain you have many questions to ask on the matter," he spoke before turning to meet Jude's gaze. "But this isn't the place for it. I still need to get you farther away from Valenhold before the knights come for you, which I assure you they will. There's a location just west of here, a town that resides past the forest by the name of Felden. Someone wishes to meet with you there, and we are to deliver you there as quickly as possible. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, I think I get it," nodded Jude with an assuring gaze, but still pulling the cloak tight around him to stay warm while Marcus retrieved his vest to see if it had dried off by now. "So what do you have in mind? I mean certainly you didn't expect us to end up out here. Or did you and the others thought of this in advance?," remarked the youth with a laugh as the man returned it. He shook his head while rolling his eyes at the notion. "Heh heh, well that explains it."
"But otherwise, this shouldn't set us back more than a day from how we originally intended to get you there. I mean, even the complication we hadn't fully forseen when we fled the castle didn't pan out as we expected. But...here we are I suppose," remarked the man as he finished cleaning the inside of his boots.
"What do you mean by complication, Marcus?" asked a puzzled Jude, since he only remembered running to the iron gate before everything went blank.
"O right...Well about that," Marcus mentioned as he placed a finger on his lip, staring at the ground. "Perhaps its best if I explain it to you in the morning, if that's alright with you? We should get rest as best we can before the sun comes up, you know, get our strength back and all."
"Hah hah alright. Can't argue with that," Jude said as he stretched his arms to the side under the cloak. "But how are you going to sleep, Marcus?"
"Me?" He shrugged it off and waved his hand about it. "I'll probably lay down over by that other nearby tree after you fall asleep. I'll keep watch first before I grab some shut eye, just so nothing else eventful happens this evening."
"Alright. I'll see you in the morning," Jude replied as he waved a hand and paced over to the large outer root of the tree and rested his back against it while cupping his head.
Looking over with a smile as the boy slowly fell asleep, Marcus purloined through his dried vest and pulled out a damp note that had been folded up and tied around with a straw string. It had been delivered to him by his partner only two days before Jude had been imprisoned, putting them in an initial pickle to complete the task that was requested. The paper was bent a few times from the water splashing on it, but he could see the writing still in-tact along the sheet, the red letters still visible.
"Brother Marcus
I hope this note finds you well and still in good spirits. I have need of you and your associates once again, and the matter is urgent. A close friend of mine has gone missing over the last few weeks and my scouts have not found any word of his whereabouts. But I know this person well enough that if they wanted to disappear, they could give the greatest magicians and illusionists quite the challenge in finding him. Because of this, I must speak to his son, Jude Magress. Please bring him to the Purple Wyrm Inn in the town of Feldin. I have already spoken with your leader on the matter, and don't mind extending any aid to you should you need it for the task, although I must be discrete as the council grows restless over the passing weeks and can only escalate while our Duke is away soon. Thank you, my son and I hope to meet you face to face again soon. May fortune follow you!
Signed, Lord S...." (the last letters were smeared with water droplets it seems)
Marcus smiled as he brushed a tear from his eye and refolded the note back up. "Thanks be to you as well, father," he muttered with a gesture of prayer. "May the gods watch over us till we meet again in Feldin."
